A Reluctant Hero
by Anamnesis Redivivus
Summary: I will enlighten your love-tortured mind with her secret history," he continued. " When you agree to some stipulations, I will give your heart its cure. Well, perhaps not the cure, but a temporary anesthetic." COMPLETED...R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. Future B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when it comes out).

***

Born in 2978 of the Third Age, Boromir was the first son of Denethor II, son of Ecthelion II, and Finduilas of Amroth. His birth meant a great deal to his father and mother, being the first child and fist son. As a child, he was trained to become a great warrior and steward. His grandfather, the Steward of Gondor, adored him also, but in a grave manner. He always thought his father and grandfather acted strangely, doing and saying things without showing their emotions. For a while he thought that way, but when he began to wield a wooden sword he thought it dignified. 

Little Boromir could not grasp the difference between a king and a steward. Since there was no king in Gondor for great many years, the steward acted in place of the king. To his adolescent mind, the steward was the king. A steward ruled the kingdom in the king's absence, but if there was no king for a terrible count of years, then did not the steward become a king? He often asked his mother about this subject, but she never answered directly. She always told him to ask his father.

In 2983, a second son was born in the steward's household. The child was named Faramir. Boromir first felt jealousy of his little brother, as all humans do, but grew fond of Faramir as he began to crawl and walk to follow him.

Then in 2984, tragedy befell the steward's house. Boromir's grandfather, Ecthelion II, passed away. With that, Denethor became the steward, and Boromir his heir.

When Boromir celebrated his seventh birthday, Denethor presented him a miniaturized sword. Finduilas disapproved of this, but as an obedient wife she could not oppose him. Boromir played with his sword with a dream to become a great warrior. To Finduilas's relief, he never let it near little Faramir.

By 2988, Boromir had become a good novice. He spent days studying and practicing to wield weapons. He was determined to be great as his father wished. He respected his father very much. But in that same year, his mother Finduilas succumbed to the grasp of Death, dying young and withered in spirit. Faramir was only five years old, so he could not have understood what death really was. Boromir, on the other hand, vaguely grasped the concept as a young child of ten short years. It left an indelible scar in his heart and mind.

*

Life became full of difficulties and oppositions as Boromir matured. The fact that he was the first son of the steward, and the heroic figure to impressionable Faramir, did not help him any with his life. More and more duties fell upon him as years piled upon him. He was becoming burdened with adults' concerns as a teenager. Life did not seem so full of hopes now, especially since his childish eyes were now opened to the real world.

Boromir was eighteen years old when Denethor named him the High Warden of the White Tower, and the Captain-General of Gondor. The last two years spent with the former High Warden provided sufficient experience for the young one to take over such a paramount task. Still, Boromir questioned himself whether or not he was ready for such office. Everyone who now became his subordinates was much older than he was. The son of the steward became uneasy in his position.

*

Boromir woke one morning with the faint morning sunlight tickling his face. As he strapped on his armor and sword, he braced himself for another day.

He walked out of his room and found Faramir carrying books, unable to greet him with a bow.

" I remember the days when I read those books myself. In five years or less, you will become a Captain also."

Faramir grinned.

" Yes. I hope to do as well as you in my years to come. I finished this book already," said Faramir as he motioned his eyes to the brown book on top of the large stack.

" You might become greater than me if you keep this up, Faramir."

His little brother smiled in earnest. He always wished to be just like his valiant, noble brother. Always he watched him pass his examinations and defeat his sparring partner. To his eyes, Boromir was the greatest warrior of Gondor.

" I will see you at noon meal, I hope?" Faramir knew it was too much to hope for. Boromir was always out of the city, patrolling the vast land and hunting down enemies.

" I do not wish to disappoint you, so I must say that would be difficult to achieve. However, I am sure I will see you at dinner tonight."

Both smiled and went their own ways. Boromir walked past the door, through the courtyard, then down the path towards the stable. One or two soldiers began to make their way to the stable also, joining their captain along the way. They talked about last week's glorious victory against a small group of Southrons in Ithilien. Boromir had defeated their captain with one swift blow. Denethor was awfully proud of this. His son knew it only too well.

Someone asked another, " Doreg, are you looking forward to your trip to Dol Amroth next week?" Boromir cringed within to hear that name.

" Yes, I suppose so. I am meeting my in-laws. If you can call that pleasant, sure, I am looking forward to it."

Soldiers laughed. Another said, " It is a beautiful land! I have been there myself when I was but a young lad. I still remember the faces of the pleasant folks that dwell there. Still, I think Minas Tirith is the most beautiful city of all!"

Boromir thought about that. It _was_ the most beautiful city until Mordor began to spread its terror all around the white city. Now it had a terrible air in its beauty. Furthermore, the city looked empty without its kings.

" Captain Boromir, your horse is ready," a stable boy informed him. The teenager looked envious of Boromir.

" Good," was all he said in return. His father had taught him to not show abundance of gratitude, for the lowly peasants might take it as a sign of weakness and willingness to follow other's orders. Personally, he felt like an ingrate for acting so apathetic.

Soldiers all mounted their horses and secured their feet in the stirrups. Boromir rested his right hand on his sword hilt, and his left on the saddle pommel with the rein in between. He sat with his back straight, and his face appeared solemn. Kids nearby could see the splendid form of the captain in the bright sunlight. His light armor of leather and steel shone intensely. He looked like a hero from old tales.

" Let us go to our patrol," said Boromir. Others followed as they galloped away to the gates.

The group had a relatively slow day, hunting down only a few messenger orcs far from the city. There were no bloodthirsty orcs, or glory-hungry Southrons. Some began to become weary of the absence of thrilling chases and fights. Boromir was only too happy about the eventless ride. He had been studying, practicing, fighting, and killing nonstop for weeks now. He had not a full day off since three months ago. As the steward's first son, he felt obligated to perform those duties, but he still felt that he was not competent enough for the job. He also felt like he needed to enjoy his youth before he became too old. Nevertheless, his heart was still loyal to his father and his country.

" Should we leave the second patrol group to manage this area? It seems our time would be better spent training, or whatever we can attempt to think of."

Most agreed. Boromir did not agree with them from his point of view as a patriot. Yet, he did not wish to annoy them with his ideals.

" I will stay behind with the second patrol group. You all may return," Boromir replied. Soldiers praised their captain as they bowed, turning their horses around to gallop towards home.

' Perhaps they are right, but I cannot disappoint father with such foolishness. They may go, but I will not.'

*

At night, Boromir returned home safe and sound. He had sent a rider some hours before with a captive Southron. He seemed to be well dressed and well informed of his nation's business. Boromir thought it prudent to send him to his father, so he may wrestled from the captive's mind valuable information. He knew his father possessed some sort of rare power, but knew not the exact details.

A soldier heralded the entrance of the triumphant captain, the leader of yet another victory against the enemies. Peasants who were outside could see his severe face in the torchlight. Inside, he was too concerned with his hunger.

Boromir had missed the dinner meal, but went to the empty dining hall to eat the cold leftovers. Faramir had snuck out of his room and lore study to talk with him. He wanted to know all the details of the fight. His fights were better than old stories of battles long gone.

Faramir sat across the table from Boromir, drinking water and eating some pieces of bread. Boromir silently ate the scanty meal that he gathered from the kitchen. The little brother could not hold his silence anymore.

" How was the battle this afternoon?"

Boromir washed down his meat with some wine.

" Do you really wish to know?"

Nodding his head with an earnest look, Faramir leaned forward to better hear the words.

" It was the same routine, except it took a little longer to defeat them. The prisoner I sent ahead must have been of some importance to have such amount of guards with him. Anyhow, we surrounded the intruders, sent a barrage of arrows to them at the lower grounds, then charged in with swords and spears to kill any survivors. You know the procedures well, Faramir. Why do you ask me about details?"

" I wanted to know how you defeated their guard captain. I want to know about your personal fights - what moves you used, what the enemy did, and how you killed him."

" I only charged at him with my sword, then cut his throat. That was all there was to it."

Boromir finished his meal.

" Do you not enjoy your missions as a Captain?" asked Faramir. Boromir drank the last of the wine in his goblet, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He was too tired to even think about that.

" I suppose I enjoy it. I am not sure."

He picked up the plates and dropped them off in the kitchen. Faramir followed him along the hallway, then left for his own room. Feeling deadly tired, the son of the steward retired to his bed.

***

R & R, please!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. Future B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when it comes out).

***

The next day had gone by just as slow for Boromir. There was no enemy today, but it was just as lethargic as the days before. He talked with his fellow soldiers about many things. They laughed many times during the long patrol, but there was no real enthusiasm in it. Everyone was still wary as usual, not forgetting that Mordor lay not so far away.

Boromir sat on his horse and gazed at the twilight sky. The sun had just begun to set, and his patrol group was on its way back to Minas Tirith. A thousand or so yards still remained, but the light of the white city was undeniably distinguishable. The captain could see every small details of the effect of light upon the stone city. There were soft red, orange, yellow and white light enveloping the place. He found renewed love for his home.

" I'm too hungry to even steer my horse in the right direction!" Someone cried humorously. Others could see that the horse was walking whither and thither, going whichever way it desired. Boromir chuckled at this, but soon heard a faint noise faraway. Others soon heard the noise also and looked about. In the vast plains of the Pelennor Field, they could see a tiny black spot racing towards the gates of the city. It was farther behind than they were, but was catching up quickly.

" I don't believe anyone left the city today," murmured Boromir. He could faintly make out the figure riding the brown horse. It was hooded and cloaked. Few minutes passed by, and then he could clearly see the rider. A soldier cried " it is Widow Narian!"

Boromir saw the woman on the sweating steed, holding the reins tightly with her fair white hands. She was not using a sidesaddle, but was riding the big beast like a man. Soon her hood flew back and her long brown hair flew about behind her. There was a cloth bundled up behind the saddle. Flapping wildly beneath the heavy black cloak was a fair grey garment. Her long, white legs were exposed from her saddled position. Boromir noticed that she was wearing no shoes.

" Does she not know what is appropriate and what is not?" He asked. Her clothes were those of the nobility, yet here she was riding the horse without a sidesaddle, no shoes, exposed legs - and worst of all - riding without an escort.

" Captain Boromir, do you not recognize her name? She's Crazy Widow Narian. She has lost her mind since the death of her husband."

He thought for a while, then partially recollected a story he had heard three years ago.

" I remember."

Still, he could not help but feel outraged at her actions.

" Does no one do anything about her? Does her family let her ride alone whenever she wants?"

" They have tried for a few weeks, but they gave up hope. She just will not listen. I personally think she does not even understand what they say to her."

A few laughed. Boromir was still not satisfied with this explanation. This was indecent and inappropriate, even for a crazed person.

When Widow Narian had gotten within a few yards, Boromir led his horse to block her path. She changed her course.

" Halt!"

Boromir chased after her, urging his steed to a full gallop. The widow's horse was a giant beast, but it seemed spent. The captain caught up soon enough. He tried to grab the reins. Narian pulled away from him and he followed.

" Halt!"

" Away!" She shrieked. She seemed to be getting ready to claw at Boromir's face when the soldiers began to catch up.

" Captain Boromir! Let her be!"

Feeling that the widow might be killed someday if let alone to do as she wished, Boromir leaned farther and grabbed the reins. Her steed seemed glad to stop and rest, slackening its speed. Widow Narian screamed in frustration, then jumped off her horse.

She began to run towards the gates barefoot. The dried, dead stems of grass and weeds did not bother her callused feet. Running with great speed, she looked back. Boromir's figure loomed up behind her. Boromir shouted, " I'm trying to help you!"

Holding the saddle pommel by one hand, he leaned over and put his arm around the widow's waist. She kicked and screamed in protest as he pulled her up. She suddenly spoke to him in a calm, soft voice.

" You would do well to let me go before you bring your reputation down to the mud! Keep me and I'll trample all over your good name!"

Too surprised and shocked to think clearly, Boromir slowed his horse down and let go of her. She took over the reins to her own horse and mounted swiftly. Galloping away once again, she quickly disappeared from Boromir's sight.

Other soldiers approached to their captain's side.

" Captain, did she injure you?"

He shook his head from side to side, but still looked towards the gates. He could see the widow turning around to face him, then enter the city.

" Captain?"

" I'm all right."

Feeling confused, Boromir started once again for home.

*

Boromir had joined his family for dinner this night, happy to see warm food before him. For many days he had not had a decent meal, and for once he had it before him.

" How was today's patrol, Boromir?" Denethor asked.

" It was awkwardly peaceful. My men and I had not had such a day for a long time."

He bit into his venison.

" I am glad that you had captured that Southron yesterday. I gathered valuable information from him. He seemed to be an officer of high rank. I'm not really sure why he was so close to our city by himself, but I know now that there will be a small troop trying to pass unnoticed within a week. I hope I may count on you for their elimination?"

Boromir nodded.

" Good."

Faramir began to talk about his training today, mentioning a few sparring victories here and there. Denethor seemed to take little notice of the conversation. Instead, he gazed at Boromir. He began to understand why his firstborn was wearing a strange expression on his manly face.

After dinner, Denethor had called Boromir to his side, setting him before his chair. His son seemed to avoid eye contact, thinking about something.

" There is nothing you can do about her," the steward stated flatly. Boromir looked up in amazement. He never could become adapted to his father's extraordinary abilities.

" Is it not a gross neglect on the part of her family, both blood and law, to let her wander about in such manner? Are they not worried she will become involved in an accident?"

Denethor drank some wine, then leaned back in his chair.

" They believe she is beyond help now. I agree. There is no point in wasting attention on her. Her sanity was utterly destroyed by her husband's death. You do know the story, do you not, my son?"

Boromir had been too engrossed in his own affairs to know the details of such social affairs. Denethor saw this.

" I see. Well, her origin is from Dol Amroth, as was your mother. When she was sixteen years old, her parents married her off to a thirty-four year old general named Belfed. Do you remember him?"

Boromir nodded. He was a portly general who had risen through the ranks with his wits in military affairs and his family name.

" She was beautiful then, as a young girl should be. After a short week with her new husband, her beauty waned. After a month, she yearned for her home and family. One year after her marriage, General Belfed was killed by Southrons near Ithilien. When the news reached her, she went mad. She would not listen to anyone, and she spoke like a little child. She even acted like one. Her family in Dol Amroth had tried to take care of her, but she escaped and returned to Minas Tirith. Her in-laws tried also to subdue her, but it was useless. For three years now, since the death of her husband, she had her way with life. None of her old servants would dare stay in the empty house for more than a few hours. Belfed's grand mansion and wealth lies under thick dust now. I don't know how she manages to survive, but she does. There is no use in trying to help her, Boromir. Her fate has gone beyond hope's redemption."

" I understand, father."

After obtaining his permission to leave, Boromir rose and walked away. He still could not understand how Widow Narian was able to speak with such eloquent words if she was reportedly insane. Even his father himself said that she now had the mind and intelligence of a child. What had happened? Had he imagined the words?

' I simply won't think about it,' he told himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. Future B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when it comes out).

***

Life continued its course for Boromir. During the year that had passed, he had completely forgotten about Widow Narian. He became busy once again with the defense of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. He soon learned to love the art of war, believing that a great man must possess such love. He wanted to be a great man. Boromir began to show signs of pride, something he had inherited from his father. Denethor saw this as maturity. The steward's pride in this change made Boromir even more prideful. He felt happy that his land and people were safe. He was happy that his father was proud of him.

Faramir had joined Boromir on patrols some days, beginning to learn how real battles worked. Theories and spars never mounted up to the real task. Somewhat daunted by this reality, Faramir regarded his warrior brother as more of a hero. He yearned to become brave like him.

Even with his newfound pride in his status as a High Warden and Captain-General, Boromir wished he had more days off. He was glad to have lore-studies over with, and battle enemies instead, but relaxation became a rare thing for him. Once in a while, he would have a day off. It was not enough because of his training sessions and other duties. It had become another excuse for Denethor to pile up more responsibilities on him. Sometimes he never had any sleep at all.

*

It was one of those rare days off when Boromir was writing and reading reports. He was sitting at his desk with the candle almost spent. There were heaps of paper on his desk, sorted into two piles. There was only one more left as he put away the one in his hand. The last one was fairly short as he finished it within a few minutes. Getting up to stretch his arms, Boromir let out a yawn. It was three in the morning, and yet here he was reading reports. He felt like the room was too confined for the moment. Since four in the afternoon he had been in here, reading and writing nonstop. He had to get a breath of fresh air.

Walking around the stone streets, Boromir stretched his arms yet again. His neck was slightly cramped and it bothered him. A few more steps had taken him to the front of a large mansion, beautiful and dirty. The structure was lovely enough, but it was unkempt. Dead plants covered the front garden, making the house seem like a haunted place. Boromir heard footsteps inside the house.

' Could it be thieves?'

Taking slow, cautious steps towards the door, he unsheathed his sword. The door was unlocked. It made a great deal of noise on its rusted hinges. Someone inside ran about.

" I am Captain Boromir, son of Denethor the Steward! Surrender and I will not use violence!"  
His eyes quickly adapted to the dimly lit interior. The hearth in the middle of the room was dying. Few candles were lit all about the room. He saw no intruder.

" My house! Out!" Someone shrieked. Boromir recognized the voice. He could not completely forget it.

" Widow Narian?"

He lowered his sword when she emerged from a shadowy corner. He had not noticed her before.

" Why are you alone?"

" People scared. No like me."

She had a small dagger in hand. It was quickly sheathed.

" This is not safe for you. You must go to your family."

Faint white light of the moon lit her face. She appeared ghastly in such illumination. Her face had become more gaunt and pale. Her arm was thin and dirty.

" Do you understand me?"

Narian gave a bitter smile. Putting away the small dagger, she pulled her shawl closer about her neck.

" You act differently from what people say about you," she said. Boromir became surprised and confused.

" So I didn't imagine that after all! You aren't insane!"  
Narian walked towards another room.

" Thank you for your faith in my sanity...not that I have asked you for it."

Boromir recovered from the confusion then felt anger in her attitude. She was treating him like a peasant boy.

" I am the Steward's son. I demand respect from you."

She still did not appear from the room.

" Respect is earned, not demanded. By the way, are you coming in or not? You are letting the night wind enter."

Boromir unconsciously closed the door behind him as he walked towards the hearth. There were dead plants resembling those outside the house.

" Why are you in here?" Narian asked. Boromir could hear clattering of small items.

" I thought a thief was in here."

" No thieves dare enter this house. They all fear me. Do you?"

She reappeared with a cloth bundle in her hand. A cloak was in her other hand.

" No," he said. " Where are you going?"

" Somewhere."

She walked past him towards the back of the house. Boromir followed her to the small stable. Narian's horse was there.

" Why do you act as if you are mad? Why are you not acting that way with me?"

Narian strapped the bundle behind the saddle, and then put her cloak over shoulders.

" Does it matter?"

" Indeed it does! I shall inform your families. They would be happy to know that you are fine."

Narian mounted her horse with her legs on both flanks of the horse. Hem of her blue dress climbed up, revealing her white legs in the moonlight.

" Go ahead. No one will believe you."

Boromir became a bit angered by her words.

" I will make you talk, if I must!"  
Narian started her steed to a trot, going between the house and the fence to reach the road in front of the mansion. Looking back at the Captain of Gondor, she put on a scornful smile as she threw on her hood.

" Do not waste your time on such impossible tasks, Captain Boromir. You cannot make me!"

With that she made her horse gallop away, waking sleeping residents with the sound of hooves against stone. Boromir watched her disappear, clenching his hands to fists. His pride was hurt by her comments. He only wanted to help her, but she pushed him away. Why was she acting this way? It puzzled him to the point of frustration. Why did he care anyway?  


*

Later that day, Boromir took it upon himself to help improve Faramir's swordsmanship. His brother's master had been sick with an illness for quite a few days. He could not let his brother sit about idly.

" How was that, brother?" Asked Faramir. Boromir gave a nod of approval. His little brother had improved much since he last saw him with a sword.

" That was good. Remember to keep the blade straight. Your arm will feel awkward if you lean it towards any side."

Faramir performed another parry and slice with ease.

" You improved much, Faramir."

The younger of the two smiled.

" I think you deserve a little rest," said Boromir. Faramir sat down by his brother, sheathing his sword. He asked, " how late did you stay up last night? The stack of reports was enormous."

" Not much."

Boromir thought this an opportune time to test who was right last night - Narian or himself.

" Do you know Widow Narian?"

Faramir nodded, taking a sip of water.

" Of course. Everyone knows her."

" Do you believe she is really crazy?"

" What else could she be? Her madness goes beyond anything I can possibly imagine. It is amazing that she survived three years on her own when she acts like a seven-year-old child."

That had settled it. Boromir had lost. He felt humiliated that a woman was right where he was wrong.

" Why do you ask?" Faramir asked. Boromir hesitated.

" I remembered the story just then, that is all."

He sighed softly in relief when that had ended the subject. Boromir felt numerous questions spring into being in his mind. The encounter with Widow Narian had left him wondering many things about people. He even wondered about himself.

***

R & R!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when read it). Please review so I will write more? Please? I've put a lot of work into this...now I'm getting discouraged...kinda...

***

Ever since Widow Narian had left that morning, Boromir anticipated for another meeting with her. She had been gone for two weeks. He had thought of many questions to ask her, but he wondered if she would answer them. She was a mystery.

Boromir was returning from patrol one day when he saw her from faraway. She was taking it slow this time, letting her steed trot as slowly as it wished to go. Narian did not have a cloak about her. He thought this awkward since he was shivering.

" There she is again, riding that horse. She must not feel neither cold air nor the hot sunlight," one spoke. Narian was looking at them, though much distance lay between. Her long sleeves were rolled up and her legs, from knee down, were shown. The setting sun gave a wonderful glow to her brown hair. From afar, it looked like waves of coppery gold.

" Let her be this time, Captain Boromir."

Saying nothing in return, Boromir peered at her. Her lavender dress fluttered wildly in the wind and her hair floated about her face. A stern look was in her face - there was no emotion about her. She might as well as be a stone statue.

As soon as they entered the city, Boromir slowed his pace with a dismissal for the patrol group. His steed walked slowly while Boromir looked behind him. Narian was coming in slowly. Gate guards laughed behind her back. Boromir did nothing.

It was night once again in Minas Tirith. Boromir was out on a short walk, setting a small square with a fountain as his destination. He strolled leisurely late in the night, feeling satisfied to see his people sleeping safely in the night. It was his efforts that kept the city safe. His sweat and blood was paid in return for the tranquility.

When he reached the square, he found it empty. The sounds of running water resonated throughout the leveled area. Moonlight gave a silver glitter to the fountain water. It mesmerized Boromir.

" You must not get any sleep this way," a voice said behind him. When he turned around, he saw Narian walking up.

" What are you doing here?"

" I am here to enjoy the view. I come here every night when there is a new moon."

" Not to dance as some people say?" He asked. There were rumors among night shift guards that she danced in a fountain to celebrate the death of a full moon. Some believed she was a witch.

" Why would I do such a thing?"

Narian sat on the fountain's edge.

" Do not make the mistake of believing that I am oblivious to the stories and gossips. I may act insane, but my sanity is surer than any of those who dwell in this stone cage."

Boromir thought of sitting near her, but decided against it. He still did not know if it was safe.

" May I ask a few questions?"

" Why not? You will ask me even if I refused."

Boromir's brows knotted itself in irritation.

" Where do you go that keeps you away for weeks?"

Narian looked far away in to the distance.

" My home."

" Dol Amroth? I thought you escaped from there."

" Yes. I escaped."

" Why?"

" Because I would have been married off again if I stayed there. I would have been enslaved again if I stayed."

It surprised Boromir to hear this. More and more questions raced and sprang into life in his head.

" Is that why you act insane?"

Narian nodded.

" It is the only way I can keep my freedom. I have more freedom now than I had ever before. If others wish to think me insane to satisfy their hunger for scandalous gossips, then so be it. I do not care. It is a mutual relationship - they have their fun, and I get my freedom."

" Is it worth it? Is it so worth it that people laugh at you behind your back? Is it so worth it that you live alone in a decrepit house to look after yourself? Is it so worth it that you must ride for hours alone at night to go to your home?"

Narian looked straight at his face. Boromir began to feel uneasy under her gaze. There was nothing in her face, but her eyes were full of feelings. He still could not make out what any of them were. They were too muddled up within each other.

" I do not care what people think of me. I do not care if I am the subject of their secret pleasure for derision. I do not care if I must feed and clothe myself. I do not care if I ride for hours just to gaze at my old home from afar, knowing I can never enter it again," she said. " I do not care what all of those things are and what they do to me, but it is the next best thing I can do to get my freedom."

" What do you mean? Why can you not return to your home? What is the best thing you can do to get your freedom?"

Narian's smile amazed him. It was not a bitter or scornful smile, but a smile of sweet remembrance.

" I cannot tell you about the reason for my self-exile, but I can tell you what it is that I most desire to do. It is suicide, but I cannot bring myself to that..."

Boromir looked at Widow Narian long and hard. With what he had learned from this talk with her, he beheld her in a different light. She no longer appeared cynical, peculiar, and insane. In his somewhat enlightened eyes, she became a frail woman of scarred past and doomed future. If only other people could see the hurts that she had received over the years - if only they could see that she should be an object of pity and not mockery - they would not dare say a word of ridicule about her again.

" I know what you are thinking," she said suddenly. Boromir could not see her as an insane woman again. It was obliterated from his mind. Still, he could see that she had on a displeased expression.

" Do not give me your pity. I don't need it. I don't need pity from you. I know you are becoming more like your father. His narcissistic traits will be passed on to you soon enough. You will forget that you ever felt pity for me. You will become just like one of them and think me worthless."

" You are wrong. I will not belittle you. I cannot do so after hearing what you said."

" We will see," she murmured as she gazed up at the sky. " We will see."

Boromir walked away, feeling wretched that his father's reputation for vanity had rubbed off on him. The Captain of Gondor wanted to prove her wrong, even if his desire for righteousness itself was narcissistic. He wanted to use this opportunity to prove that he was not like his father. Boromir wanted to become a great warrior with a benevolent heart.

***

R & R, please, for the love of Eru! Prove to me that people still read serious fanfics!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when read it). Please review. My pet Hooked-on-Phonics-Elf is depressed... He needs more reviews to read.

By the way, thank you so much Tee for reviewing! Now...if others would follow that example...*hint, hint*

***

Denethor had kept Boromir busy with meetings for the next few day. There were issues to be discussed and solved. They were apparently so important that the tasks of High Warden and Captain-General were handed down to someone else for the time being. Hours went by from morning to afternoon, full of talks about economy, defense, civil affairs, and other things. Boromir found them slightly interesting, only giving his full attention to defense issues. He wanted to make sure he would be entrusted with the most difficult campaigns. The zealous captain had grown to trust only himself - perhaps his brother too, if he was older - with important matters. Well-being of Gondor became his business, doubled with his former ambitions.

He had not forgotten about his objective to treat Narian with courtesy and kindness. Since he was trapped in the citadel during daytime, he visited her at night. She was gone the first two night, off riding somewhere alone. The third night, he had waited at the stable. Narian had returned a few hours later, ignoring him at first. She was sure his act would not last long. The fourth night, last night, had been the same, except Boromir had left early. He had an important mission the next day; hence he decided to get some sleep. Narian was sure he would not come back. On the fifth night, Boromir returned to the lonely house. Narian was asleep in a room upstairs, wrapped tightly in clean white sheets. They were clean, but old. Some corners were tattered from use, and some parts were mended neatly. He sat in a chair near by to wait. Sure enough, Narian woke up silently.

" You must stop coming to my house every night. Night shift guards have a habit of watching this place in case I should commit an act of lunacy."

" I know. I snuck in."

" In that case, you are an intruder and a stalker. Go away."

She pulled the sheet over her head.

" Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Narian raised herself, then glared at him. So far he had managed to come every night.

" You can drop your façade and deem yourself a winner. I do not care about that anymore."

Boromir shifted in the chair to make himself more comfortable.

" Does that make you feel good? That you proved yourself right? You aren't really here to be of aid, but to convince yourself that you have done a good deed," she said. " You disgust me."

Boromir chuckled at this. He did not know why, but he did it. It felt good.

" I see that you are not a graceful loser. Lady Narian, be peaceful. Before this night, I visited you with an intent to prove you wrong. Tonight, I have come to provide you companionship. I'm sure you must have been lonely quite often these last three years."

Sighing in frustration, the widow threw her blanket at Boromir. Boromir caught it with a cheerful mood, laughing heartily as Narian's face reddened with anger.

" Now our roles have reversed. Revenge, you could say," he said. She lay down again, covering her head with a pillow to ignore him. Boromir used the sheets to prop up his head against the chair. He gazed at her. The small candlelight faintly lit the outlines of her body. Delicate materials of her nightgown clung to her body. Boromir relaxed.

" Are you never going to leave?" She asked. He shrugged his shoulders.

" Lately I have learned to forgo some hours of sleep, thanks to you."

" You bother me."

" Then I have overachieved my goal to be friendly to you."

He got up and laid the sheet over her. Narian looked frustrated.

" Why can you never return to your home?" He asked. Sitting down beside her, he moved the pillow away from Narian's head. There were no tears in her eyes or on her cheeks.

" If it were your business, I would tell you. Since you have nothing to do with it, I bid you a good night."

" Good night, Lady Narian."

He got up to exit the room when her voice trailed from the bed.

" Don't address me as a lady. I am insane, _remember_."

Boromir smiled as he left, closing the door behind him softly.

*

Denethor had noticed a difference in Boromir throughout the day, watching him carefully and analyzing every actions. Assumptions were too bizarre to discern correctly, but he had some things in mind. As the day grew old, he could not forget what he had learned from Boromir's mind and actions. It frightened him. What if this became serious? What if this became irreparable?

The steward waited patiently throughout the dinner meal. Faramir talked about his triumphs of the day, wanting to impress both his dear father and brother. Boromir listened intently, congratulating him on this and that, glad that his little brother was on his way on becoming a great man. He wondered if that would mean the partial transfer of his duties to Faramir. He certainly would not mind, and neither would his little brother.

Boromir knew that his brother wanted to please Denethor by becoming just like him. Sometimes he felt pity that Denethor slightly ignored him. What was age anyway? Boromir sometimes wanted to be left alone as Faramir was, to have some freedom of choice without reproach. He could feel his wall crack within himself, ready to crumble if he should lose all hope. He wanted to protect his people and his land, but was his father not asking too much from him? Then a thought entered his mind like a silent snake through a shadowy hole from the corner of his mind. It bit his mind and poisoned him with wild thoughts - thoughts he never before had the gumption to think of. He felt rejuvenated. What if he did something radical like Narian? Then his father broke his train of thoughts.

" Faramir, you may return to your room if you are finished with your meal," said the steward. Faramir sensed the slight fury in the tone, taking that as a sign for him to leave Boromir alone with his father. Getting up to bow to his father and brother, Faramir looked at Boromir. He saw nothing in his eyes.

" Good night father, brother."

As soon as Faramir had left the dining hall, Denethor dismissed the servants also. Within the commodious room, the steward and his son were left alone. The candlelight and torches seemed to be shrinking.

" Boromir, my son, tell me what have captured your attention for the last few hours? Do not resort to lies, for I have read your thoughts. I want to hear the words from your mouth," Denethor said coldly.

" What do you mean, father?"

Denethor threw his fork to the dish before him, seething with fury. Fire seemed to be in his eyes, flickering violently with its red and yellow tongues.

" Do not pretend that you do not comprehend what I am speaking of! I have read your mind like an open book! There are thoughts of weakness and frailty in your mind! Boromir, my firstborn, my son! Do you not see that she has poisoned your mind? She has made you weak! She is about to bring ruin upon you!"

Boromir rose suddenly from his chair, clenching his teeth to hold his tongue. Thud of the fallen chair echoed throughout the stone hall, ringing in his ears. He wanted to say so many things, but he did not wish to say things he could not take back. Still, he had to defend himself.

" I am only giving Narian some well-deserved company. She has done nothing to weaken me. I have not changed. It is _not_ as if I am in love with her."

Denethor gave a mocking laugh, then glared at him.

" She rides alone to faraway places that no one knows of! I read from your mind that she has a reason for her rides on moonlit plains. You have hidden the reason very well from me, but I have pried enough from your head that she visits places alone for something. She may be a servant of the enemy, sent here to destroy our country from within! She may ride to Mordor those nights to receive her orders! I do not care if she originates from Dol Amroth! She could have been lured by the dark powers when her husband died. She will utterly destroy us all if you do not keep away!"

Without a second thought, Boromir slammed both fists to the tabletop before Denethor, breathing heavily from anger. The sound boomed loudly in their ears, lingering long in the air.

" I will determine for myself whether or not she is a servant of the enemy! As for you, father, you have long controlled my life as you wished, but no longer! I will serve my people because I want to protect them, _not_ because you want me to! Stay out of my life and my head!" He shouted. Denethor sat silently in rage as his son turned and walked away. He spoke coldly.

" Do as you wish then, but I cannot promise that all will be as it was before."

Boromir glared at his father then kicked open the heavy doors. Guards stepped back in fright, not knowing what had occurred inside the stone hall. All they saw was their hero and captain walking away in fury with both ice and fire in his eyes.

***

A/N: Ooh! Boromir defied his father! Ooh ooh! What's he going to do next? What did Denethor mean by that last comment? Review and tell me if you want me to reveal why Narian can't return to Dol Amroth. I have something in mind...*suspenseful music* 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. B/OC pairing (MS? I don't know...you tell me when read it). **Please review!**

***

Too angry to do anything he wanted, Boromir lay down in his bed and thought about what had just happened. What his father said sounded ridiculous then, but now he wondered if it was true. Narian said she went to the outskirts of Dol Amroth, but never mentioned why she went there - that is other than gazing at her old home. It did not sound too convincing. Why would she ride so far just to look at it from afar? What made her more suspicious was the untold reason for her self-exile. What was so important that she would go through those measures without resorting to death? Boromir restlessly tossed and turned in bed. Soon, sleep overtook him.

*

Returning to his normal schedule, Boromir rose early for patrol duty. He walked along the path and was joined by fellow soldiers. Others talked and laughed, but Boromir remained silent. Soldiers thought this a bit peculiar.

" Captain? Is something on your mind?"

Boromir shook his head side to side. Nothing was on his mind. He had gotten rid of all thoughts for the moment.

The group soon reached the vicinity of Widow Narian's house. A few houses still stood in between, but they could hear people screaming. Sounds of clattering things also sounded in their ears.

" Must be Widow Narian. What is she up to this time?"

When the house came into view, they were all appalled. A small squad of soldiers surrounded the mansion. The doors and windows were locked, save one on the second floor. Things came flying out of that open window, landing near the man in charge of the scene. Boromir ran up to the man.

" What is going on here?" He asked. The man spoke after avoiding a flying vase.

" Lord Denethor has given us strict order to imprison Widow Narian."

" On what ground?"

" Threatening her neighbors with a knife."

Boromir backed up a few paces to peer into the window. He saw Narian getting ready to throw a picture frame. Loose locks from her braid clung to her bare neck. She did not appear to be pretending at the moment. Boromir saw that she recognized him. Without hesitation, she threw the frame at a soldier.

" You see, Captain Boromir? Her insanity has progressed too much to let her be amongst people. She cannot be allowed to stay."

Boromir sighed silently as he watched two soldiers break a window to climb in. Spectators began to close in about the area. Narian screamed. A soldier shouted. The sound of steel-armored hand against flesh resonated loudly. There was more screaming from Narian, then everyone heard footsteps along the staircase. One more sound of steel against flesh was heard. Two soldiers appeared with Narian in between, weakly screaming and kicking to get free. A stream of blood trickled from her scalp, and a huge red mark replaced the pale complexion of Narian's right cheek.

" Good job. Take her away at once before she becomes a further nuisance," said the chief. Boromir only looked at Narian as she ceased her movements, too tired to even make a sound. Red blood still ran down her fair skin.

" Captain Boromir let us go now."

Walking away somewhat hesitantly, even after Narian was gone from his sight, Boromir's mind fumed with anger. His father had planned this since last night's argument. Narian had now lost her freedom. All those years of sacrificing her dignity for freedom was destroyed on a whim with Denethor's unbreakable will.

*

Boromir could not accept the incident quietly any more. When midday approached, he left a subordinate in charge, then raced his steed back to Minas Tirith. Running into the citadel, Boromir ran to his father's study. He was alone when Boromir pushed open the doors.

" What are you doing here at this time of day? Who have you left in charge?" He asked. Boromir walked up slowly, eyeing him with mixed emotions.

" What have you done, father? What have you done?"

Denethor chuckled as he closed the book before him. He thought, ' at least he is not blind in anger.'

Boromir pushed off all the books from the large desk, trying to get an answer out of him.

" Answer me!"

" I had warned you, my boy! If you cannot stay away from her, I will keep her away."

Denethor gazed long into Boromir's eyes. Noticing this, he looked away, walking to and fro. It could not keep him out of his mind.

" Do you really believe you can save her? Why do you care so much for her?"  
" I'm not unfeeling like you! She is not insane! You are going to _make_ her insane if you keep her locked away!

Frightened at what he had said, he edged farther and farther back. A smile crept into Denethor's face, growing into a bout of laughter. Slapping his knees and tossing his head back, the steward laughed a long while. Boromir sighed and winced in fear.

" I see it now in your mind! All of your thoughts scream it! Why could I not see it before? Yes! So she is not insane after all. Yes, I can see it ever so clear."

Denethor's gaze was piercing. Boromir tried to stir up anger within him to make his thoughts blurry.

" She is not insane, so free her. I will keep away if you so desire it."

" I did not want to come to this, but I see that you have made it inevitable," said Denethor. " To ensure that you will never become weak again, I must keep her away. You are still thinking of her. Your mind is full of anger towards me. I know that you can become uncontrollable if fury takes a hold of you, I've seen it in your childhood many times. Who knows what you will do if she corner you into infinite hatred towards me? She will attempt it. She will seek revenge upon me."

" What are you going to do?" Boromir asked fearfully.

" Keep her at a place where you cannot find her. Keep her as an assurance that her wicked tongue will not poison you."

Knowing that he could not do anything to his father, for he was the Steward of Gondor, Boromir shook with anger as he glared at his father. His mother had died from withering to nothingness within this stone city, for she was a free soul of Dol Amroth. Boromir had seen her wither away in the ten years that he had grown under her supervision. He had seen how Denethor had somewhat ignored her. A flower that has grown accustomed to the freeness of the ocean's breeze cannot ever acclimate itself to the stagnant air of a stone city.

Boromir foresaw this within Narian's future.

" You are bound to me by blood, my son. You cannot escape."

Weakly forming his hands to fists, the Captain of Gondor turned around. He stood for a second before the door, wondering how everything had led to this. Boromir had found friendship with Narian, but his father would not permit it. He had no choice as his son. He had no other option as his subject. Would he always use her as weapon to keep him under his control? What would happen to him? What would he be forced to do?

" You are too young to know what true love is, Boromir."

Boromir looked back at his father, eyes wide open. Love? Is that what he felt? Does love gnaw at the heart and soul when the focus of all your attention is gone from your grasp? Yes, that was what it must have been all along since that night by the moonlit stone fountain. He must have beheld Narian with new eyes of a lover after those bitter words.

" Yet I recognize it."

Boromir left with that last words to his father, finding Faramir approaching from afar. He tried to put on a smile and found it difficult. His little brother looked at him with a curious look.

" What happened, brother? You look depressed."

" It's nothing."

Brushing lightly against Faramir's shoulder, he went away to the front of the citadel. The dead White Tree of Gondor stood forlornly amongst all that were green. The sunshine lit everything to a beautiful glow, but the tree alone stood dark and gray. He thought of his childhood memories, replaying ever before his eyes. Nothing registered in his mind save the images and the White Tree. His mother stood full of sorrow, gazing at the dead tree. Before his eyes, she withered and turned to ashes, blown away by the torpid wind.

Slowly, with subtlety, the White Tree warped and shrunk into an image of Narian. She appeared beautiful, as she must have been in her years of youth. The smile on her face turned to nothing, and then the image winced. Limbs shrunk into skin and bones. Arms and legs began to tear to pieces, diverging towards the sky. Narian's face cringed in pain. Torn flesh and bones became the branches of the dead White Tree. Her face faded to merge into the sun behind the tree. The setting sun colored the skies with a red tone, lighting everything with a bloody tone.

' How could I have been so blind to the love?' He thought. Arid wind dried the tears in his eyes before they escaped.

' Why do I love Narian? Are all of these pains worth it all?'

The wind whispered into his ears, saying " _I do not care what all of those things are and what they do to me..._"

***

A/N: Why does Boromir love Narian anyways? Interesting...right? Prideful Captain of Gondor and a Widow who pretends to be insane... Please review! If you read this at all, review to let me know that people are reading this story. Is it that not many people are interested in Boromir? Is it that everyone is reading Legomances or something? REVIEW!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. I'd be happy to own them if they would be given to me for free...only possible in my dreams, but by Eru I have my right to dream whatever my subconscious would throw at me!

A/N: Inspired by Boromir's kindness and patriotism in the Sons of the Steward scene from the Special Extended Edition of The Two Towers. Just keep in mind that Boromir became grouchy from the Ring's corruption - before that he was really a noble man. B/OC pairing (for Boromir at least...). **Please review for the love of Eru!**

***

It was with great hope and fear that Boromir accepted the temporary defeat, swallowing down bitterly the hard obstacle. For days he kept silent, thinking of ways to reverse the tragedy. Hope began to fade by the end of the second week. He could not openly storm any room to save her. His love for her had been established, but did Narian love him also?

Denethor pretended as if he had noticed nothing, still probing deeper and deeper into his son's mind. A great part of his attention was diverted to this issue. He was frustrated for his own part. He had hung so much hopes and trusts in Boromir that this unexpected turnout frightened him. Determination to somehow subdue, or possibly eliminate quietly, Narian became rooted deeper and hardened. He feared for the future of Boromir and Gondor.

Denethor called Boromir to a private discussion one day, hoping to find out how Boromir was reacting to this blackmail. He supposed that his son would have cooled, but the steward was not completely sure of what he should expect of Boromir. His son had become a mystery in a sense.

" How are the defenses?"

Boromir murmured a one-word-reply, then kept quiet. He was totally focused on keeping his mind emptied and closed.

" Narian has a past that no one really knows of, my son. I deem it would solve your present quandary."

Denethor waited for his son to react. Boromir's eyes widened in surprise, hoping to gain some valuable knowledge.

" I will enlighten your love-tortured mind with her secret history," he continued. " When you agree to some stipulations, I will give your heart its cure. Well, perhaps not the cure, but a temporary anesthetic."

Boromir knew his father was not bluffing. His father rarely bluffed when he desperately desired something. 

" What are your terms?"

" You must hold yourself from whatever emotion may stir up in you. If you dare call me a liar, you can certainly expect that Narian will not be safe."

" I will agree to your terms."

Denethor proceeded slowly, taking his time to fathom the lengths of Boromir's so-called love.

" I had wrestled from the deepest corners of Narian's mind a valuable secret. As I have told you before, she hails from Dol Amroth. When she was only fifteen years old, she had fallen in love with a young man of a prestigious family. They kept their love affair a secret one, and very cleverly too. It had gone on for almost a year when General Belfed was enraptured by her youthful vibrancy and her hefty dowry. He was certainly in need of a wife as years piled upon him.

Narian's lover was of good heritage, but his father had recently squandered his money on a bad investment. It hurt his pride that Narian's parents would reject his proposal due to his father's mistakes. Determined to give Narian his best, he began to amass his own wealth. Meanwhile, Narian's father was quiet attracted by Belfed's rank and wealth, promising his daughter off before other prospects would open up. He knew that Narian had a willful attitude, thus he was more inclined to send her off quickly before her fault would be recognized.

When Narian was informed through his father's words and both his and Belfed's presence, she ran away to meet her lover at their meeting place. Her lover came and found her distraught, and became distraught himself when he learned of the news. Narian wanted to elope, but he refused with his unwavering will to give her the best."

Denethor paused a while, then began again.

" That was all I gathered from her own experience, but I arrived on a conclusion based on rumors she heard afterwards. The lover secretly delivered Narian to her house when she fell asleep, escaping secretly. He rode far out to the cliff near the sea, angered and upset to the point of madness. He realized he could never have her if she was married off. Believing that he would be married off soon to a rich woman of Dol Amroth, he thought the separation would be too much for both to handle. In sheer madness, he cast himself into the sea, cursing the world. He wove a message into the sea breeze that he would meet Narian again someday, somewhere. He also bid her live a _long_, fruitful life.

His family found his body washed up on shore, but Narian heard of the news weeks and months later. When the searchers discovered the body, she had already left for Gondor. Despite that, she had kept a note he had left her the night they were last together. It concerned his undying love for her, and that despite whatever would happen from then on, he would meet her again someday. She burnt it on the night of her marriage.

Narian exiled herself from Dol Amroth completely after Belfed died and her parents took her in, hearing her lover's message. She wished to fulfill her lover's request, but not in the land where so much painful memories remained."

Boromir's heart was tortured throughout the explanation, his hope slightly crushed. Had he known that Narian still had love for her former, he might not have been so crazy about her.

" Is that all?"

Denethor looked at his son surprised that his son was still well composed.

" She does not know if her love for the man will endure the long separation."

What the steward had omitted was Narian's contemplation of suicide. This ordeal of hers was becoming too difficult for her to handle. It had only been three years, but so much had happened that made it seem like decades. Her imprisonment in a dark, dank room did not help her attitudes either.

" I presume you have some scheme planned, father?"

Denethor smiled.

" I am glad that you have mentioned that, Boromir. As I have said before, Narian's imprisonment is the assurance that she will not weaken you. This is my proposal. If you plan to help her escape or do anything to aid her in anyway, I will guarantee a painful death for her. If you swear your utter allegiance to me once more, on pain of destroying Narian in the most painful way, I will let her live, but in complete solitude and secrecy. Will you swear your allegiance to me?"

The proud Captain of Gondor dropped to his knees, fighting off warm tears. Had it really come to this? Boromir lamented his cornered self. Fate treated him so cruelly. He did not even know if Narian loved him, but the most minute hope urged him to save her.

" Will you let me have a moment with her? I need to know if she loves me."

" No. Who knows what that wicked maniac will do to escape?"

Too tired of pretending that he could defeat his father, Boromir surrendered.

" I swear, on the pain of torturous death to Narian, that I will ever obey you as my father, lord, and master! Save her, father!"

His voice held pitiful element within it. Anyone capable of good would have given into that innocence and sincerity, but Denethor was a hard man of unwavering determination. He did not null the allegiance and free Narian, but accepted the oath with a feeling of great triumph. All he cared was that the poisonous woman would no longer destabilize Boromir. The well being of Gondor and his family's reputation was all his concern. No bitter widow would ruin any of that.

" I accept your allegiance, Boromir. I will hold you to it in the strictest manner that I can devise. If any sort of breach of this oath come to my knowledge, I will make it the most painful, torturous public death for Narian's end. Remember it, my firstborn."

Boromir still knelt on the ground while Denethor left him there, grieving over his defeat. Now he had no choice but to live on as if he had never known Narian, as if he had never learned feelings that her presence gave him. Because of his father, he had to reverse himself to his days of apathy and aloofness. How could he live as if he never gained anything? How could one learn love, then all of a sudden act like love is something he will never understand?

Boromir rose slowly and gazed out of the window to the glimmering White Tower of Ecthelion, ever shining white. He tried to suppress his happy memories with Narian to a remote part of his mind. Reminding himself that he was doing all of this for Narian's sake, he held his head high. As Narian had lived those painful years for her long-gone love, he would now live on for the love of her - all without ever knowing if his love would be returned in this life, or in the Unknown that the Gift of Secondborn led them to.

Boromir, son of Denethor the Steward of Gondor and Lady Finduilas of Dol Amroth, brother of Faramir, High-Warden, Captain-General, and Lord of Gondor walked out into the hallway flooded with blindingly white light, his black silhouette fading into nothing.

***

A/N: How do you like that for the last image of this fic?! Huh?! Well, read the very, very short one-shot sequel to this fic...right about...NOW!!! About the One Ring's tempting offer to Boromir, titled " Take Me and Fulfill Your Wish."


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